Fourteen cats seemed like a good round number. Loth had just enough kibble in the giant bag he carried to fill each bowl with the appropriate amount.

Gar, an orange tabby he'd rescued from a garbage bin meowed in protest at the amount.

Loth bent over and hissed. "The vet says you're getting too fat. Don't blame me."

He stood upright, the bones in his back popped like fireworks. He wasn't sure if being a lich made his back hurt more in the bitter cold but it didn't help. He missed flesh some days. Or rather he missed the memory of warmth.

With the last of the food gone he'd have to bike into town or the rest of his cat herd would resort to murder and there were some very tasty looking kids in the suburb that had sprung up near his cottage several years ago.

Loth put on his heaviest robe and a pair of pink mirrored sunglasses. He had just enough magic left for a mirage spell. People saw a wizened old man with a hump and a shuffling walk. He added a multicolored scarf he'd knitted last winter to the ensemble.

He rode on his ancient red Schwinn, his robe a billow of black behind him. The closest town wasn't much of a town. Just a few stores and a post office. He went to Maggie Cooper's general store because she stocked the organic food his horde of kitties demanded.

He waved to her as he pondered a pink mouse cat toy. Goober or Gary might be into it. He heard a gasp from somewhere behind him and turned to see an old woman staring at him with her hand over her mouth. Her face was haloed in wrinkles, leaving only two small black eyes.

"Mishko Velnias?"

Loth looked down and away. "You are mistaken madam."

"No please. I have paid the price. I have sacrificed so many. But you never answered me," she sobbed.

He'd gone deaf to prayers ages ago and had been thankful for the silence. So many voices all saying the same thing: I want I want I want.

Loth shrugged. "I am not the one you named." He shuffled to the counter with his bag of cat food and one single orange. Maggie raised her eyebrows at him as the old woman followed him, pleading and crying.

"Lois, do you want me to call your grandson?" she asked the old woman.

"No, I want him to give me what he's supposed to," she yelled back. Her eyes were red and swollen as she pulled at Loth's robe.

He felt his image flickering, sputtering as his worshiper tore into him. His eyes glowed red. His horns sprouted, dripping with red. He roared and she cowered, kneeling at his feet.

"Please," she whispered.

He reached with his spirit, pulling hers free from her withered body. Her soul, black and liquid, funneled into his open mouth.

He left her body on the floor, taking his sack of kibbles and his orange. The bell on the door heralded his exit.

When he got home he touched the orange with his bone fingers, imbuing it with a tiny piece of the old woman's soul. The orange split, sprouting a small sapling bud in his palm. He would plant it next to the other fruit trees the cats liked to climb.